An early start, I'd said, but it wasn't all that early when
we walked in to HQ. 7.30. Just in time for the explosion.

Giggly best describes the pair of us that morning; the start
of it anyway. Behaved like a pair of schoolkids. Thought it might
be awkward seeing him after what we'd done that night, what he'd
made me do, but as it turned out it was OK. Saw him pull up while
I was eating breakfast, abandoned the sausages to eat later if I
got the chance and opened my front door in time to see the
redhead from upstairs hipping through the hall in the tightest
jeans and the highest heels I'd seen in a long time. No visible
panty-line either: I looked. So did Doyle and he gave one of his
filthy chuckles as we caught each other at it.

After that every bird we saw as fair game--lucky thing we
were taking that much notice as it turned out a day or so
later--both of us reinforcing the macho image no doubt.

Hardly surprising when you think...

Wish he hadn't walked out on me that way he did, the things
I could have said to him if only he'd stayed to hear.

Who am I kidding? Haven't found any way yet of mentioning
what we get up to in private. What's to say anyway? It's fun and
it passes the time...

Wonder if he did it because he was feeling guilty about
Marikka? Maybe he'll get the urge every time his conscience
starts pricking! Blimey, I 'ope not, I'll never keep up. Wouldn't
mind doing it again though, it was... OK, it was OK.

Is he going to want me to...?

No. No, I can't. Not that.

No way.

Shouldn't even think about it only it worries me a bit that
he'll expect... he's not always predictable. Wish I could forget
it, what he felt like and the things he said to me... that husky
note could make a memo from the Cow sound like porn.

Decided I'd ring Joanna, picking on the most willing and
uninhibited bird I know to help drive the memories away.

Ring Joanna! What a laugh! 'ardly 'ad time to take a leak
that morning.

Stopped feeling quite so 'appy when Williams bought it. Then
Matheson and King. That put a stop to the horseplay. Can still
see the way Ray looked while he was concentrating on my bloody
phone. Christ! but my 'eart was clattering...

Wished he hadn't decided to wear those brown velvet jeans of
his next day: didn't need reminding all the time his is the
sexiest rump in CI5 and I knew it better than anybody.

Typical Doyle, pratting on about his ruddy pension: me, I
was fretting about the prospect of permanent deafness. Perforated
eardrums're no bloody joke and we'd escaped that by the skin of
our teeth. Lucky, the doctor called us. I was too shook up to
argue the word.

Cowley sent us home. No use to 'im saying 'eh?' every other
word. My place was full of Phillips' mob still, checking over
every bloody inch.

"You keep at it," I told 'em. "Don't want to go finding out
the hard way you lot aren't up to the job." Luckily I couldn't
hear what they said as I left.

Ray didn't look too delighted when I fetched up on his
doorstep.

"Still unpackin'?" I asked him, stepping round a couple of
tea chests between me and the comfiest looking armchair. He says
he likes to take his time and get everything just right when he
moves: personally I reckon he likes living in a muddle.

"Wha'? Wossay? Mind those cases, I haven't finished
unpacking yet."

"I can see that."

"What?"

"I said I can see that."

"See what?"

I sighed. "How about makin' us some tea? Tea!" I pantomimed
drinking and he shook his head.

"I hid the whisky after Cowley'd been the other week and now
I can't find it."

"Tea!" I yelled. "T.E.A.!"

"All right, all right, no need to shout."

"What?"

"I said No Need To Shout."

"Oh!"

Idle chat not being the order of the evening--shrieking
everything three times over's not exactly restful even when
you're not hoping to find an opening to broach a subject even
more delicate than 'have you started yet, love?'--I swallowed the
last of my tea and waved a hand at the packing cases.

"Want any help?"

"What?"

"Help."

"What d'you want to help with?"

"Oh, christ!" I put my head in my hands and groaned, looking
up again to find a lurking twinkle in his eyes but before I could
speak he said:

"Did you ring Jo?"

"Bring what?"

"Ring," he said, enunciating with bell-like clarity,
"Jo-an-na."

"Oh, Jo! Where's the point--I'd only 'ear one word in ten if
I did," I shrugged. Somehow the urgency to grab hold of something
yielding and female and fuck myself legless had faded; tomorrow
would do.

"OK then, you start on that case."

"What's the matter with my face?"

"Case! That one." He pointed. "Well, you did offer to help."

Bloody job took forever. It was nearly 11.00 when we
finished, mostly due to his moving everything I put away and
putting it somewhere else so I had to keep moving it back.

"Purposely aggravating, you are."

"Perfectly what?" I made for the welcoming depths of the
armchair again.

"You 'eard. Isn't it about time you went home?"

I gazed at him, wounded. "Don't I even get fed?"

"I said isn't it time..."

"Food!" I pointed at my mouth. "Grub. I'm famished."

"Ravished?"

"Famished. But I'll settle for the other." The words were
out before my brain connected with my mouth: still, the way my
own hearing kept coming and going it was possible he hadn't
caught what I'd let slip.

"Never knew you when you weren't hungry. Come on then," he
said, resigned.

"Make toast? Open tins? Is this the Cordon Bleu chef I know
and love?" I followed reluctantly.

"Baked beans--bacon and egg with it. OK?" was what he said
but he gave me a very funny look that I couldn't read and wasn't
sure I wanted to. Let myself salivate instead of worrying about
it. I broke lustily into song:

"'Beans, beans, a musical fruit; the more you eat the more
you toot..."

"You do and you can go home to your own bed afterwards." he
turned away as he said it, leaving me staring at the back of his
head and not finding it particularly communicative.

"That'll be nice. Thanks. I'll hold you to that." And he
grinned at my expression.

I love a good fry-up and once I'd convinced him to pop a
couple of slices of bread in the pan for me it was one of his
best efforts. I patted my stomach and leaned back, belching to
demonstrate my appreciation.

"Manners!" He wagged a finger at me.

"Funny how you only hear what you want to."

"What?"

"Watt's pot never boil."

"Eh?"

"I beg your pardon," I corrected reprovingly.

"I asked you what you said."

"No, you didn't, you said 'eh'. 's very rude to say 'eh'."

"What?"

About to deliver a terse opinion of his intelligence I was
shaken by another subterranean rumble.

"Bodie!"

"You see, you heard that all right."

"Are you surprised? Force 8 on the Richter scale I should
think that was."

"Beaufort--Richter's earthquakes. That was wind!"

"In that case," he got up to his feet and shot nimbly
towards the door, "you can do the washing up while I 'ave a
shower. I'm gettin' out while the atmosphere's still breathable."

Is it my fault if it turned out that running the hot tap in
this new kitchen affected the supply to the bathroom?

He arrived back, starkers and shivering, just as I was
rinsing the last plate under hot running water and strode over to
wrench the tap closed and glare at me eyeball to eyeball.

"What the 'ell are you trying to do--freeze me to death?"

"Are a bit goosepimply, aren't you," I agreed, having a good
squint down at him. Looked like a drowned rat with his hair
plastered to his head. A fat drop plopped off his fringe and
landed on my shirt-front. "Do you mind, you're making me all
wet."

"And you were freezing me balls off. Didn't you hear me keep
yelling at you to leave the hot tap alone?"

"Oh! was that you? I thought the neighbours must be 'avin' a
domestic or something..." But I couldn't hold down my grin and he
bristled visibly, as outraged as a maiden aunt at a blue movie.

"You were doing it on purpose, you bastard! Right, that does
it!"

"What are you... No! Ray, stop it! Don't! Mind my collar!
You're choking me... Ah, you little devil, come 'ere, let's see
'ow you like it!" And I removed the sodden J-cloth from down my
neck and advanced on him menacingly. Chicken, he retreated to the
other side of the kitchen table.

"So where are you going to shove it, then?" he demanded,
indicating his nudity as I turned from refreshing the cloth in
the washing-up bowl.

"You need to ask?" I said sweetly.

I finally caught up with him at the door to his bedroom--he
was laughing too much to get clean away--and I grabbed him with
one hand and rubbed vigorously up and down his body with the
J-cloth in the other. I had to pull him very close to keep him
under control, nearly going for a Burton as he wriggled and
squirmed and fought to get the cloth away from my grasp.

I let him take it: I'd found something better to do.

He was damp, he was chilly, he was the most desirable thing
I'd held since the last time and I had a sudden vivid memory of
the time a year or so back when we'd started in violence and
ended in a sweaty, clinging tangle. I got my mouth onto his neck
and almost fell over as his knees buckled. He was trying to say
something but what with the ringing in my ears and the way my
blood was pounding through me I couldn't hear a word, didn't want
to hear a word in case it was 'No'. Not that he seemed to be
arguing any, in fact there was only one problem--I was still
fully dressed and it was definitely cramping my style.

I needn't have worried; when I began fumbling with shirt
buttons he got impatient and pushed my hands aside, undoing them
for me. Then he folded back the material and bent his head,
licking a tumultuous path along my collar bone and down my breast
bone to my navel where he lingered, the pad of his tongue pressed
flat against me, barely moving.

"Ray," I pleaded. "Ray!"

"Yeah. 's OK, 'm gonna... Just be patient." And he slid to
his knees.

Felt a complete fool afterwards standing there with my
trousers sagging round my hips 'n my prick hanging out, but he
was hard still, up-thrust, seeking but not asking for what he
needed.

"Come to bed," I said roughly, shedding my clothes as I
went. "Come on, lie on me. Between my thighs... yeah. That's the
way. Yeah, like that..."

His head was heavy on my shoulder, his hair still damp. I
wound a curl round my finger and wondered what he was thinking.

Ought to say something, Bodie. Break this silence. 's
getting harder all the time, finding the words.

Hard? Impossible!

Ah, come on, it's not such a big deal. What's a little sex
between friends? If Ray wants to talk he'll talk. C'n have the
hind leg off a donkey, he can, when he gets going.

's better this way. Much better.

But maybe Doyle isn't the only one with a streak of yellow
all down his back!